


day 3: domestic

by apocryphic



Series: mcgenji week 2016 [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, McGenji Week, Post-Recall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8380918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphic/pseuds/apocryphic
Summary: They're learning. They're trying to take care of each other. They're getting somewhere, hopefully.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like they might have a hard time acclimating to living in a shared space and getting used to looking after each other as much as they look after themselves, considering how independent both of them are :O so this is a short thing about forgetting to turn off ovens, mourning wet laundry left in the washer, and communication.

Some stolen armament explodes too close for comfort. While used to being danger close, McCree is in no hurry to stop breathing, so he books it and ducks behind the nearest cover to find Genji already there, shuriken flicked out of his wrist and visor brightening in response to McCree's presence. It manages to drag a grin onto McCree's fight-dirtied face, despite circumstances.

The heat from the fiery bits of broken-up debris that rain down near them reminds McCree of something he'd meant to mention earlier. No time like the present, he figures, and dips a little closer towards Genji.

"Did we leave the stove on?" McCree asks, half of his shirt and a good portion of his jaw covered in a red splatter. Whenever people get too deep into his range, it's only a matter of getting out _alive_ , not getting out _clean_. McCree, after all, doesn't have a sword for moments like that, and mumbles as much.

Genji pauses instead of leaping back into the fray. "Did you use it this morning?"

McCree scratches his jaw in sheepish thought. "Uh. _Huh_. I can't recall." One of the filched pulse grenades falls between them. Genji snatches it before McCree can give it a go and launches it in a flawless throw overhead. They both admire the resulting snap of sound and the screams of anguish that follow from the Talon operatives trying to kill them. "Good one."

" _I_ did not use it," Genji tells him, though his fingers flex at the compliment. "It would only be on if you used it. And then forgot to turn it off."

Ana says something over the comm lines. It's all a garbled, staticky mess, but when there's a second explosion further down the stretch of urban space, McCree figures it must have been a warning. "Thanks," he says to her, and then back to Genji again: "I was just wonderin' if you'd noticed."

There's a pause in the sound of shots being fired their way, so McCree whips around and upwards to try and aim a couple potshots at their enemies. He manages to down one of the men before a rifle nearly takes his head off. Instead, the bullet grazes across his hat, and he clutches at it as he drops back down, eyes glittering with adrenaline and near-death experiences.  

"I will handle the sniper," Genji informs everyone on the channel before he tips his chin at McCree and repeats, "I did not use it. So I did not notice."

"It's naggin' at me, though. I _think_ I turned it off."

Genji rests a hand on his shoulder briefly and instead attempts to brush debris off of him. "This is a you problem, Jesse."

"Alright, honey."

 

* * *

 

 

Another day, another fight. Genji doesn't normally throw his entire weight at people to take them down, but McCree doesn't normally nearly take a whole clip of ammo to the face at what feels like _way too close_. It's a flash of green and then Genji's barrelled the guy over, slit his throat, spilled blood across the dirty floor. Abandoned Overwatch base. They're scouting. They're also not alone. Genji isn't exhausted like McCree is, but he's certainly looking like a mess.

"That was a little personal, even for you," McCree says once he's given a low whistle and once the man's stopped breathing. He steps through the blood, boots sticky with it. It reminds him of Hanamura, and seeing Genji work then. It's not often that he remembers Genji from back then, how he'd been — more accurately, it's not often that Genji gives him _reason_ to be reminded.

McCree offers a hand out to Genji. He takes it, legs bearing his weight only just barely. They regard each other for a moment. Genji either needs Angela or he needs McCree to fix him up. McCree can do a quick patch up job of it, they just need to get out of this damn base first. It's a labyrinth; maybe meant for climatology, once upon a time. McCree doesn't care to ask.

"He made it personal," Genji finally replies. There's a stiffness to it. Neither of them are particularly bothered by their work, but sometimes things cut close. McCree kisses the middle of his faceplate, right on top of the metal.

"Damn," McCree says, like something's just occurred to him. Genji's visor lights the dark gently. "I forgot to put the laundry in the dryer."

A pause ticks by. Genji grabs his chin, makes him look down and meet where his eyes are beneath the helmet. "Jesse."

"Yeah, I know."

His fingers tug a little more insistently on McCree's chin. " _Jesse_."

"I _know_ ," McCree repeats, sounding more lamenting. He pats Genji's shoulders with both hands, scrubbing with the heel of his gloved palm at red blots that streak across the cyborg's armor. All the things that McCree forgets are things Genji doesn't have to be concerned as much about; it isn't like McCree should be counting on Genji to look after him _all_ the time anyway, and he doesn't, it's _just_ —

Well. He doesn't mind when Genji _does_ dote a little, is all.

Genji strokes fingers through McCree's beard but doesn't argue when McCree says, "Let's get on home, tiger."

 

* * *

 

 

McCree reports to Winston. McCree showers. McCree is considering sleeping.

"Well, _howdy_ ," he says when he walks out of the bathroom, thin pants looped low around his hips, because Genji is standing at the wall and looking fairly pleased with himself. "All done with your checkup, then —"

McCree does not sleep. McCree gets shoved down onto the bed by familiar hands in a familiar way with a familiar anticipation.

On his way down, he manages to hook a leg around Genji's so that he's forced to bend at the knee, forced to follow McCree down. Half of it is reflex, half intent, and McCree clasps his face between his hands, strokes his thumbs across Genji's cheeks, tracing just below his eyes.

Genji kisses him until McCree's lungs are on fire as much as the rest of him. He's not breathless in the least, while McCree is taking deep draws of air. Something, something, enhanced, synthetic, _better-than-human_ lungs. McCree doesn't feel the least bit ashamed at his own reactions, considering Genji seems pleased. Their lips meet again, Genji biting lightly, dragging a sound out of McCree's throat, getting to the point of ragged.

McCree tips his head up when Genji's mouth moves to his throat. Genji presses himself closer, one of McCree's arms going around his back, and then McCree tilts his head to the side and stares at the sheets for a second. Genji bites his neck; McCree's breath skips, but he manages to fist a hand in the sheets.

He squints.

"You forgot to change 'em," he says, sounding very much affected but no less pleased with himself.

Genji stops (unfortunate) and looks down from where he's perched on McCree's stomach (fortunate). Looks at the sheet in his hand. Looks back at McCree. Frowns. "It wasn't my turn."

"It _was_ , 'cause I did 'em the last time —"

"You did them the time before," Genji argues.

McCree waves his hands dismissively, tossing the fistful of sheet free. "Yeah! I did 'em _twice in a row_ , 'cause Angela needed to keep an eye on you 'round the last time they were due for cleanin'."

He can see Genji counting backwards in his head, can see the dawning revelation, can _feel_ in his heart of hearts the blossoming warmth. McCree's laughter is delighted, too smug, Genji staying firmly still on top of him all throughout it. He breathes, eventually, exhales real heavy and gets his hands on Genji's hips, light and thoughtful. His eyes sparkle with remaining mirth and something rueful. Genji, at least, looks fond, if bewildered, if like he might want to rip the sheets off of the bed to make a point.

"We're real bad at this," McCree finally says. _Responsibility; getting used to something other than independence; being adults, but together._

Genji's fingers play a distinct line of touch down McCree's throat, across marks he knows he'll find there when he looks later. Genji seems to think about the best way to say something, and then seems to wait a moment longer for effect, and then tells him, "I put away your laundry while you were showering."

McCree sits up on his elbows, looks around. Lo and behold. From Genji, it might as well be shouting a love confession from the rooftops. McCree kisses him. "I check the stove after you use it now," Genji goes on against the onslaught of kisses. McCree can feel him smiling against it all and latches his lips against the point where synthetic muscles end and skin begins at Genji's neck, just barely.

They're learning. They're trying to take care of each other. They're getting somewhere, hopefully.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not as fond of this one as i was the others BUT THAT'S PROBABLY BECAUSE I'M EXHAUSTED. JUST TAKE IT


End file.
